By the end of my freshman year of college, I was exhausted. Brimming with memories, I was anxious to return to a bed bigger than a twin, my dog, and my momâs home cooking. When I arrived home after a four-day road trip from my university in Los Angeles, the first thing I did was cry. Something not drastically out of character for meâmy body tends to expel emotions through leaking waterâbut this time, the tears came from a different place.
I could tell upon entering the back storage room that was now my summer residence, that home wasnât quite home anymore. There were ways in which I no longer fit, and bittersweet nostalgia permeated my space. The saltwater leaking from my eyes reminded me of the weight, permanence, and timing of it all. A chapter in my life was overâthere was no going back. I had to grapple with the realization that life at home went on in my absence.
Some of my friends made the decision to stay in Los Angeles for the summer, others jetted off to travel, but many of us went home to work or spend time with family and friends. We went home because it was supposed to be the easiest and most convenient, a break from the adult-ish responsibilities at school. I told myself it was likely the last summer I would spend in Seattle, so I wanted to soak in the bits of youth I could still hold close; camping with friends, living at home (not paying rent), working under twenty hours a week, etc. I was excited to be home but wasnât wholly prepared for the new emotional space I’d be returning to.Â
Everything was in flux.
When Iâm at college, Iâm there until I go home. When Iâm home, Iâm there until I go to college. Both feel like home, and yet both also feel like an elongated sleep away camp separating me from reality. Because of this, Iâm never fully settled in either space. Once I accepted the nomadic vibe of it all, I felt empowered by existing in two spaces. It gave me a sense of independence and pride that I recall craving in high school.
But there are ways in which tip toeing in between two worlds can get lonely. High school friends canât quite grasp your new college self, no matter how many stories you tell or Instagram profiles you show them. College friends can guess the person you were before they met you, but theyâre in your life now and donât have too much time to play catch up. The ever-present truthâwhich will become more evident the more you switch between living, working, life spacesâis that youâre the only person who knows your total and complete journey. And thatâs pretty fucking cool, if you ask me! Learn to trust your intuition in this unexplored territory, and donât be afraid to take steps forward.Â
For my last semester of college and all throughout finals week, I dutifully romanticized my return home to Seattle. I fantasized about evergreens and freshwater lakes, reconnecting with high school friends, spending time with family, and wafting in my lack of schoolwork. I needed those fantasies to get me through the hard homestretch of college, but simultaneously set the bar too high for what things would be like at home. Although I am happy to see my family and friends and be refreshed by the green and blue environment, I also miss Los Angeles and my life there more than I planned. By romanticizing what my life would look like here and over-simplifying my expectations, I set myself up for failure.
I changed in college, probably in a lot of small ways that I canât fully articulate, and home is a vivid reminder of my life prior to this shift. So, it feels funky… and if you feel this way, too, know it’s completely valid.
Iâve changed and maybe home hasnât (or at least as much), so why did I expect to fit perfectly back into an out-of-date mold of myself? Thatâs way too limiting and unrealistic. Lesson learned: youâre no longer obligated to do the same things at home or see the people you no longer feel connected to. Latch on to that empowerment and shape home to fit who you are nowâ even if it feels unnatural at first. Change is uncomfortable, sure, but itâs also powerful. Donât restrict yourself by limiting your expectations of home; adapt, adjust, and find solace in the small moments of security youâll find cuddling with your dog or sleeping in until noon.